


Never Be the Same

by NatRogers



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Romanogers - Fandom, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Best Friends, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Family, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, New York City, fake engagement
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:15:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21688174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NatRogers/pseuds/NatRogers
Summary: Between being best friends and co-owners of the bar Soldier & Spy, Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff have perfected the art of being partners in crime. So when the ghost of Steve's past endangers his family's business deal, there couldn't possibly be anything wrong with enlisting Natasha's help, right?
Relationships: Natasha Romanov/Johnny Storm, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 56
Kudos: 200





	1. Family First

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full disclosure: I know this trope has been used many times over. I know this, I do. But once upon a time, as I complained about needing to clear my head, my sis-in-law handed me a smutty romcom book with this premise and voila! I just knew I had to see if I could write it with my favorite ship in mind. So here we are. 
> 
> I'm very, very excited about this journey as there are elements I want to play around with that I haven't tried before writing-wise, so I hope you enjoy this as much as I do! 
> 
> As always, happy reading!

Steve’s eyes scan the expanse of the room as he stands behind the bar, working a dish towel over the freshly washed martini glass. It is close to midnight on a Tuesday, and Soldier & Spy is empty save for a few patrons polishing off their drinks. The clientele is the eclectic mix one would find in the West Village, from professionals nursing glasses of Merlot, to a pair of buddies indulging in a few house brews. But as different as they are, sitting here between these walls, they all commit to the same cause of unwinding from their day.  
  
On the list of things bars are good for, being a prime space to observe human behavior ranks high. This is a fact Steve holds true after years of owning one. And based on the number of breakthroughs in friendships and relationships he’s witnessed in this bar alone – likely a product of an honest conversation taking place under the warm lights – it’s safe to say that alcohol is a pretty potent social lubricant, ridding people of their inhibitions and revealing them at their rawest.   
  
That’s not to say that people and alcohol are an exact science, though. Maybe tequila is straight up courage in a shot glass, granting someone confidence they may not normally have, but it is also a champion at nullifying discretion and making bad ideas seem like really, really good ones.  
  
Just as it’s doing to the guy by the far wall right now.  
  
From his vantage point, Steve has to resist the urge to roll his eyes as he watches the guy down the last of his gin and tonic before hopping off the stool. The man stalks towards the window, where a young woman with chestnut hair is quietly enjoying her watermelon Margarita, before plopping down, unprompted, on the opposite side of the booth. The woman looks up at the intrusion, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion as the man offers his hand out to shake.  
  
“Dead in the water, bud,” he mutters to himself, shaking his head as the guy serves up what he can only assume is a cheesy pickup line, based on the scowl that forms on the woman’s face.  
  
“The dude hasn’t a clue, huh?”  
  
He pauses for a beat before smiling knowingly, turning to find one of their regulars, Sam, seated before him with his tie already loosened and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. “Not a single one,” he says, walking over. “The usual?”   
  
“Oh, no,” Sam says, emphasizing the last word. “Whiskey, neat. Make it a double.”  
  
“That bad, huh?” he says, turning to grab the bottle of Macallan off the top shelf.   
  
“You have no idea,” Sam says exasperatedly. “Just got told I have to be in the West Coast tomorrow morning and I’m pretty sure the only seat available on my flight is smack next to the lavatory.”  
  
He cringes as he places a crystal tumbler down on the counter. “That’s how it is, huh?”  
  
“That’s how it is,” Sam confirms.  
  
“I’m sorry, Sam,” he says. “I’d be lying if I said that doesn’t absolutely suck. But hopefully this makes it slightly better.” He sets the drink down in front of Sam. “On the house.”  
  
“I knew I liked you, man,” Sam says, pointing at him as the corners of his mouth quirk up. He reaches into his back pocket, pulling out his wallet before sliding a crisp five down the counter. “I just knew it.”  
  
“Have a safe flight tomorrow, all right?” he says, putting a fist out for Sam to bump. He takes the bill, placing it in the tip jar before he returns to the sink to finish drying the rest of the glasses. As far as tips for a single drink go, a five is generous, and he’s certain Wanda, their regular bartender, will appreciate it come tomorrow. Wanda is a Senior down at NYU, and with the end of the semester coming up, he and his business partner, Natasha, had told her to take the night off to study.  
  
As he picks up another glass, he turns his attention back across the room where the woman is looking less than impressed with her intruder. He’s never been one to look the other way when he senses another person is uncomfortable with someone else’s advances, especially in the confines of his own bar. But the woman looks like she can hold her own, so he keeps his distance and finds himself infinitely glad when she picks up her tablet and bids the guy a sharp goodnight, leaving the man to ponder where he had gone wrong.  
  
He shakes his head, because that’s another thing about him – he’s incredibly adept at reading other people. Sure, Psychology was one of his majors in college, but it truly should not take a genius to notice that the woman has been tense the second you took a seat and is painfully aware that your eyes are about a foot South of where her eyes are as you talk to her. It’s all in the body language and facial expressions, visual cues and hints that are supposed to be impossible to miss.  
  
Or, so one would think.  
  
He watches as the guy at the booth turns his head towards the other side of the room, and he doesn’t even have to follow the man’s gaze to know what – or, more specifically, who – he has spotted that’s caused his eyes to light up like Christmas morning. Over at the other end of the counter, Natasha sits in front of her laptop with her forehead scrunched as her fingers dance across the keyboard. The expression on her face is one of deep concentration. It is the universal Do Not Bother Me face. The Talk-To-Me-And-I’ll-Kick-You-In-The-Face face. But as Sam had said, this guy hasn’t a clue as he makes his way towards her, his chest puffed out with renewed vigor.   
  
There isn’t a single doubt in his mind why this bozo (he’s certain of it now that he’s seen the guy interact with other humans) has zeroed in on his best friend. Natasha is gorgeous with eyes the shade of shining emeralds and scarlet tresses cascading down her back, its tips still platinum from when she had gone blonde. But more importantly, she’s devastatingly smart and witty – just ask everyone she’s obliterated in the courtroom once upon a time – and her sense of humor is absolutely top notch.  
  
But there’s no way this bozo could know any of that. The only thing he recognizes is that Natasha’s dazzling as he perches on the stool next to her, leaning an elbow on the table and nearly knocking over her glass of water. Natasha’s reflexes are fast, though, and she pushes her laptop out of the way just as water sloshes over the top and onto the counter. She looks to the culprit, her eyes squinting into a death glare when she does not recognize the person next to her, and from where he’s watching the scene unfold, Steve laughs quietly, throwing the towel into the sink before making his way over.  
  
“The name’s Brett,” he hears the guy say as he nears. “What’s yours, beautiful?”  
  
“Nice to meet you, Brett,” he says, intercepting the guy’s hand just as he wraps his other around Natasha from behind, pulling her closer to him and dusting a kiss to the crown of her head. “Her name’s Natasha,” he informs him with a huge grin as Natasha relaxes into his touch. “And I’m Steve. Though I much prefer to be called her fiancé.”  
  
Brett’s expression crumbles at his words, and he utters a quiet apology and then a farewell before exiting the bar defeatedly like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs.  
  
“Fiancé, huh?” Natasha says, swiveling her chair around once Brett is out of sight. “We’ve certainly upgraded from fake boyfriend.”  
  
He smirks. When they became good friends in college, they made an agreement that when one of them got into a situation with unwanted advances, the other would step in as a rescue. It offered a painless out for the both of them at parties when they weren’t particularly interested in a person back then, and now it’s become a nightly ruse to fend off enthusiastic patrons.  
  
“Seemed like the type who wouldn’t be deterred by the notion of a boyfriend,” he says with a shrug.  
  
She raises an eyebrow in challenge. “A bit of a hard sell without a ring, don’t you think?”   
  
“He didn’t even notice that you wanted to be left alone,” he argues. “Doubt he has half a mind to look at your left hand.” She shrugs in concession just as a yawn falls from her lips, and he eyes the time on his watch. “Go home,” he says before smirking. “Before you attract more clowns.”  
  
She rolls her eyes. “You should head home, too,” she counters. “Or are you and Tony painting the town red or whatever it is you two do?”  
  
“Nope,” he says. “I have a meeting with my Dad and a potential buyer for Sarah’s in the morning, so no outrageously late night for me. In the name of putting my best foot forward and all that.”  
  
“You say that like you don’t always.”  
  
“Tell the press that,” he deadpans. She shoots him a sympathetic look, but he’s quick to dismiss it with a shake of his head.  
  
“Wanda and Peter are receiving deliveries tomorrow, so I don’t have to be here early,” she says, pointing a thumb over her shoulder. “You go, I’ll lock up.”  
  
“Nope, not happening,” he says. “Go get your stuff and I’ll order you an Uber.” He puts a finger up just as her lips part to speak, effectively cutting her off. “And yes, I know you’re very well capable of roundhouse kicking someone’s teeth out, but I’m doing it anyway. Go home, get some sleep.”  
  
“Yeah, because I’m just dying to get home,” she mutters as she slips her laptop into her bag.  
  
His expression hardens at her words. “Johnny still bothering you?”  
  
“No more than living in the same building with only so many elevators as your determined ex fiancé does,” she says, her smile a little too sweet for his liking.  
  
To any other person, Natasha’s response is convincing. But he knows his best friend well, knows how much the situation still eats at her. He isn’t a proponent for violence, but he’d be lying if he said he hasn’t had thoughts of throwing Johnny Storm off Natasha’s tenth floor balcony once or twice for what he did to her.   
  
“You know, the unit next to mine just opened up,” he says. “We’d rock being neighbors. It’ll be like we’re in college all over again, except this time, we’ll be borrowing grown up things like salt and sugar instead of cans of Red Bull.”  
  
“No one actually believes that you eat sugar, Rogers,” she teases, drawing a slim outline of his figure in the air. He rolls his eyes at her, making her laugh. “Look, I finally got the apartment I wanted after all these years.” She shakes her head. “He can move if he wants. As for me, I am a tree.”  
  
“Well, tree, your Uber is around the corner,” he says, looking at his phone. “I’ll walk you out.”  
  
“Oh great,” she says dryly as they walk out the door. “For a second there, I thought I was going to have to walk the eight feet between this door and the car without an escort.” He shoots her a withering look, and she chuckles before leaning in to peck his cheek. “I’m kidding. Goodnight.”  
  
“Goodnight,” he says, opening the car door for her to get in. He steps back onto the sidewalk, waiting for the car to drive off, but finds himself confused when the window rolls down instead.   
  
“One last thing,” she says before gesturing to his face. “Trim a little. Don’t shave it off, but you know… tidy up a bit. You’ll have your dad’s buyer eating out of the palm of your hand in no time.”  
  
He scoffs. “Thanks. Don’t know how I could ever function without you.”  
  
“You don’t,” she says, smiling.  
  
“Go home, you goof,” he says, shaking his head as she gives him a wink and rolls the window back up. This time, the car drives off, and he waits until its taillights are out of sight before closing up for the night.

* * *

The September air is a welcome reprieve from the stuffy underground as Steve exits the subway on Seventy Seventh Street. It’s not quite seven in the morning, but the Upper East Side is as tranquil as it ever gets with the traffic on the roads still light and the only occupants of the sidewalks consisting of joggers and pet owners walking their furry friends. Above him, the sun shines brightly, casting perfect light across the city. _Wasted on the indoors_ , he thinks and huffs out a breath at the thought before adjusting his sunglasses on his nose as he begins to walk towards Madison.  
  
With his family’s home only a few blocks away, the neighborhood is familiar to him. His parents, Joseph and Sarah Rogers, had opened their store, Sarah’s, in the Cobble Hill area of Brooklyn before he had been born. Sarah’s started as a novelty store before blossoming into the source of the finest clothing and jewelry in fashion hungry New York. It was when he was three that his parents had outgrown their storefront, and subsequently the borough of Brooklyn itself, and eventually made the decision to move across the bridge to Manhattan. Nowadays, Sarah’s is a global brand with its flagship store standing proudly on Fifth Avenue and boasting multiple locations world-wide.  
  
For decades, his parents poured their hearts and souls into their business. And while their efforts have paid off in spades, allowing both him and his sister to live comfortable lives, there’s nothing Joseph and Sarah want more now than to retire and check off more things on their bucket list. Joseph had been wanting to do this for years, and with potentially the right buyer on deck, it’s finally becoming a reality. Their father had requested both him and his sister to be present at the meeting with the potential new owners, which is why on a beautiful morning like this one, he finds himself making his way to a meeting instead of taking advantage of the glorious sunlight to put the finishing touches on his sketches. Not that he minds much. Family comes first, always and without a doubt, in his book. 

“Hey loser!”  
  
He smiles when he sees his sister, Darcy, walking towards him, her chocolate curls bouncing off her shoulders. He pretends to look around before pointing a finger at himself. “You talking to me?”   
  
“Who else would I be talking to?” Darcy asks as she comes to stand in front of him. “See any other losers around here?”  
  
He rolls his eyes at Darcy, but nevertheless pulls her in for a hug. “You look great.”  
  
Darcy mockingly pinches the hem of her navy sundress before giving him a curtsy, making them both laugh. “Thanks,” she says before pointing a finger to his crisp button-up. “You don’t look as ugly today, either.” He raises an eyebrow at her in warning, and she sticks her tongue out in response. “But seriously, I glazed and fired a boatload of mugs and plates last night and didn’t get home until two a.m. It took me two espressos and a bagel just to get my butt here.”  
  
Darcy had graduated college with a degree in Chemistry, and to say that their parents were skeptical when she had announced that she was ditching graduate school to open her own art-as-entertainment studio would be an understatement. But Darcy’s always marched to the beat of her own drum, and apparently, the Rogers entrepreneurial gene hadn’t skipped her, either. Taser Pottery and Ceramics in Tribeca has turned into a hot spot for locals and tourists alike as people from all over come to unwind at Darcy’s studio and paint her unfinished pieces.  
  
“You do know we’re going to a breakfast meeting, right?” he asks.  
  
“Yeah, at The Carlyle,” she says, her nose crinkling in disdain. “They have itty-bitty servings. We haven’t even sat down and I’m already hungry.” She shrugs. “Besides, Dad’s buyer seems like he has a cork up his behind, so I have to make sure I’m well fed so I don’t blurt something out that’ll get his panties in a twist.”  
  
“Why do you think he’s going to be so square?” he asks, offering his arm out to link with hers as they begin to walk. “You haven’t even met the guy.”  
  
“No, but I’ve Googled him.”  
  
“You Googled Dad’s buyer?”  
  
“Dude,” she says, looking incredulously at him. “It’s 2019. You’ve never Googled anyone before?”  
  
“I have no interest in what’s on the Internet, thank you very much,” he says dismissively.  
  
“Well, Google snob, you may want to check it every once and awhile because this guy Dad is selling to? Voted squarest of the squares by the squares,” she says before shaking her head. “Definitely not going to be a fan of the piece that just ran on The NY Star of you and Peggy Carter.”  
  
He stops in his tracks, shooting Darcy a confused look. “What?”  
  
“Peggy Car-”  
  
“I know who Peggy is,” he cuts Darcy off. “What I don’t understand is why she’s relevant to this conversation.”  
  
Darcy pulls out her phone, tapping and scrolling through the screen before handing it to him. “Here. See for yourself.”   
  
His eyes scan over the headline. And just as Darcy said, right in his palm, along with a picture of him and Peggy at Tony’s gala, big bold letters read:

 **STEVE ROGERS AND PEGGY CARTER – A MARRIAGE OF THE HEIRS?  
** **By: Christine Everheart**

_Is New York about to witness the rise of a new power couple? It certainly seems that way. On the night of the Stark Gala, one of the most glamorous nights in New York high society thrown annually by Anthony Stark and Virginia Potts-Stark, Steve Rogers, entrepreneur and son of Joseph and Sarah Rogers, founders of luxury retailer Sarah’s, was seen cozying up to Margaret “Peggy” Carter, CEO of and heiress to Carter Hotels and Resorts. At the event, Rogers, 32, and Carter, 31, were seen taking aperitifs on the lower balcony of Stark Tower, laughing and enjoying each other’s company. The two have known each other for some time, having attended Harvard together, and as our witnesses tell us, it seems as if a spark had been ignited between them that night. At one point, Rogers was seen offering his suit jacket to Carter, who accepted without hesitation. It’s unconfirmed whether or not love is really in the air for these two, but the bigger question remains: Can Peggy Carter tame New York’s Casanova? It’s a feat yet to be accomplished, but should a Carter – Rogers nuptials take place, it would certainly cement them as one of the most powerful duos in the country._

Disgust coils tight in his gut as he finishes reading the article. But it’s not so much the assumptions and gross invasion of his privacy that reviles him, but the fact that he’s seemingly becoming more and more numb to it – the product of having lived under media scrutiny for the last few years.  
  
It isn’t a secret that reading people has always come easy to him. When it comes to human interaction, he’s always been the one whose vision was twenty-twenty in most situations, and that’s come in handy especially in the context of relationships. He’s always somehow the magical salve to his friends’ relationship problems, always able to see what’s wrong when they couldn’t and sense when there’s a spark and there isn’t, and that’s something his friend, Tony, had taken notice of.  
  
Tony had been prodding him for years to work with him on app designed to give people relationship advice, a self-help book in digital form so to speak, and one Tony would design and create while he provided the content. He had been skeptical about it, adamant even in his belief that there was no way anyone would want his advice. But after another day of working his nine-to-five and feeling soulless and unfulfilled, he had thrown caution to the wind and called his tech wiz of a friend. What People Want launched months later, becoming an overnight sensation downloaded more times than any other app that year as everyone clamored to get the piece of his advice.  
  
The idea that he was helping people feel better connected and understood filled him with unparalleled joy and the sense of purpose he’d been searching for. For months, he had received an onslaught of letters from people recounting success stories and thanking him for helping them find The One. He was on cloud nine, living on that high and working closely with Tony to keep improving their service. But as he learned, like all bubbles, it was bound to burst. Their success had attracted more media attention than either he or Tony had anticipated, and it wasn’t long until the press had become interested in more than just the business model. His personal life soon became the subject of think pieces that dissected every detail from where he went to what he ate. And, more importantly, who he was dating.  
  
Suddenly the label of Relationship Expert, one he had always cringed at, became synonymous with being able to bag any woman he wanted. Add to that the handful of people he had dated who had been only all too eager to go to the press to brag about what he was like – intimately or otherwise – and soon the image of him as the city’s high-profile playboy was born.  
  
The final straw had come after the second woman he thought he could trust went blabbing to the press. Fed up, he had gone to Tony, asking to be bought out of the app before going off the grid, closing all his social media accounts and making a conscious effort to stay out of the press as much as possible. While he couldn’t control the speculation, he could certainly bottleneck the prying eyes. A few harsh realities came to light then: One, it didn’t matter what he did, the world was always going to assume. And two, when it came to his heart, there wasn’t a single soul he could trust.   
  
“You shouldn’t believe everything you read,” he says, trying to keep the ire out of his tone as he hands the phone back to Darcy.  
  
“You know I don’t believe any of this crap,” Darcy says reassuringly. “I know you.” She shakes her head. “But Dad’s buyer doesn’t, and if he’s already done his research, I say best to be prepared.”  
  
“I know,” he says with a sigh. “Let’s go.”

* * *

“There’s my favorite daughter!”   
  
The second they make it past the Art Deco doors of The Carlyle, Darcy squeals at the sight of their father, bolting from his side and straight into Joseph’s awaiting arms. He smiles, making his way over to them at a more leisurely pace. “Hey, Dad.”  
  
“Hello to you, my favorite son,” Joseph says, pulling him in for a hug.  
  
“The competition was steep,” he deadpans, to which his father smiles sheepishly. “We’re not late, are we? I thought the meeting wasn’t for another twenty minutes.”   
  
“You’re not and it’s not,” Joseph confirms. “But our buyer is quite the early bird.”   
  
His eyebrows rise at that, and from where she’s standing next to Joseph, Darcy’s expression is a smug I-told-you-so. “Best to not keep him waiting, then.”  
  
“Yes,” Joseph says. “But I suppose I did have an ulterior motive for coming to meet you two here.” He glances at Darcy before looking back to him. “I assume your sister filled you in?”  
  
“I got a brief summary,” he says. “But I get your drift.”  
  
“Good, that’s good,” Joseph says. “Look, you know I would never meddle in what you choose to do with your lives, but this- he’s very traditional. Big family man and all that. That said-”  
  
“Dad,” he says, cutting Joseph off. “Nothing will be said in there that will cost you this deal. You have my word.”   
  
“Thank you, son,” Joseph says with a sigh. “And I hope you don’t think I’m not proud of all you’ve achieved. Believe me, I am. But your mother and I have been looking for a buyer for the longest time, and I really think this is the one.”  
  
“I know,” he says, smiling in encouragement. “Don’t worry, Dad. We’ve got this.”  
  
With a smile and a nod, Joseph leads both him and Darcy into the café and straight to the back of the room where an elaborate breakfast spread is set up on the round table lined with a pristine white cloth. In one of the seats, a man in a charcoal suit reads the morning paper, the lines of his forehead creasing. His posture is immaculate, his shoulders squared and his back away from the seat. Military, most definitely.   
  
“General Erik Odinson,” Joseph says as they approach the table, causing the man to look up from his paper. “I would like to introduce you to my pride and joys. This is my daughter, Darcy, and my son, Steven.”  
  
General Odinson rises, his gray hair icy in the light of the room and his stature growing even more intimidating as he stands at full height. “Pleased to meet you both,” he says, giving both him and Darcy a firm handshake.  
  
“Pleasure to meet you as well, sir,” he says as they all take their seats.  
  
The usual pleasantries are exchanged as they dig into the feast of pastries, eggs, and various breakfast meats before them. General Odinson - his preferred name - takes the opportunity to introduce himself, immediately establishing himself as a family man, married to his wife of forty-two years, Frigga, and father to their two sons, Thor and Loki, and it isn’t long until Darcy’s assessment of the man is proven accurate. A former General in the Scandinavian Army, Erik Odinson had inherited the private equity firm from his late father, though it was he who had put Odinson Enterprises on the map through his business philosophy: obtaining businesses that are well-run and family centric. Traditional, as his father had emphasized only moments ago.  
  
Halfway through their meal, General Odinson turns to Darcy. “Your father says your studio is a delight.”  
  
As he brings a forkful of hash browns to his mouth, it dawns on him that Darcy’s business aligns perfectly with the General’s family friendly mold, with the studio being a perfect place for families to bond over painting a few ceramics. Well, except on the nights Darcy displays her erotic pottery pieces - Erotery, as she calls it. But that’s beside the point, and his sister knows it as she capitalizes on the opportunity.  
  
“I’d like to think he’s a teensy bit biased,” Darcy says, smiling sweetly before shrugging. “But from what I hear from my customers, they seem to agree. I’ve recently started molding miniature teacups and it’s a big hit with the kiddos.”  
  
“That sounds wonderful,” General Odinson says. “I have a granddaughter and I’m sure she’d love to paint a couple.”  
  
“Feel free to come by any time,” Darcy says.  
  
“I may just take you up on that offer, Ms. Darcy,” the General says before turning to him. “And you, Steven? How is your dating app faring these days?”  
  
He sits straighter. Clearly, the man is as privy to a Google search as Darcy is. But while he’s let his past get in the way of many things, he won’t let it come between a deal his father has been fighting tooth and nail to broker. “I can only assume it’s doing well, sir, though that may be conjecture at this point. I haven’t been involved in its operation for years.” He clears his throat. “And it’s an advice app.”   
  
“Heard it was taking the dating world by storm,” the General presses, brushing off his explanation. “You’re allegedly adept at knowing what people, particularly women, want, aren’t you?”  
  
“I only know that people, regardless of who they are, want to be treated well,” he answers coolly. A brief silence falls upon them, and he sneaks a glance at Darcy, whose gaze is elsewhere, and to his father, whose smile is a bit too rehearsed. Luckily, the General gives the faintest of nods. 

“Well, I have a media team covering the sale of Sarah’s,” the General says. “It’s standard for a high-profile acquisition like this, as I’m sure you’re aware. It helps assure buyers and investors alike that the transition of power will be smooth especially when the acquiring entity is foreign.” His eyes sweep over the table before he adds, “so I hope we can all agree that there’s no reason for the resulting article to be about anything but the sale.”  
  
“I was just about to say the same thing,” Joseph says.  
  
“Couldn’t agree more,” he adds.  
  
“And your new venture,” the General continues after a beat. “Doing well?”  
  
“Very well,” he says. “Natasha and I opened our first bar almost two years ago and now we have three other branches around Manhattan.”  
  
“What’s the best part of running the business that you do?”  
  
“Running it with Natasha,” he says earnestly, and unlike all his previous answers, this isn’t canned or embellished. He couldn’t be more grateful that Natasha had called him one night just shortly after he had quit What People Want with the news that she had quit her job at the law firm and the reminder of their joke back in college that they should open a bar together since they both appreciated a good brew. They opened Soldier & Spy shortly after, the name taken from when they first met at a college Halloween party where he was dressed as the former and she the latter. “We work very well together.”   
  
“Like they were made to,” Joseph says proudly.  
  
“Interesting,” the General says. “And you and Natasha have been-”  
  
“We met in college,” he answers, understanding where the man, whose question was cut short by the waiter re-filling his coffee, was going with the question.  
  
“That’s great,” the General says with a nod, giving him the first sign of approval all morning. “You’re attending the dinner between your family and mine tomorrow evening, I hope?”  
  
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he says, taking a sip of his coffee and catching the way his father’s posture relaxes at the exchange.  
  
“Very well, then. I look forward to meeting your girlfriend tomorrow,” he hears the General say just as he sets his coffee cup back on the saucer, nearly rattling it in the process. Across from him, Joseph’s lips part in an attempt to correct the assumption, but his father does not get the opportunity to as the General continues. “I have to say, I don’t think it’s any secret that I’ve had my doubts. I’ve had trouble with some deals before. But getting to know you this morning, Steven, I’m convinced that won’t be the case with the Rogers family.”   
  
Every fiber of his being screams to him to blurt out the truth. To say that it’s all a misunderstanding, that Natasha’s nothing more than his best friend and business partner. But the smile on the General’s face is difficult to ignore. And so is the look of panic on Joseph’s face.  
  
“Actually, Erik, Steve and Na-” Joseph begins.  
  
“Natasha and I have been best friends since college,” he interrupts. “But then a few months ago… it was like a spark had been ignited.” He fights a grimace from breaking out on his face, his mind recalling the words from The NY Star article. “I was going to wait for a better time, but now seems as good as any.” He sighs, going in for the kill. “I am happy to say that, as of last night, Natasha’s agreed to be my wife.”  
  
His father’s eyes widen to saucers. Darcy’s jaw goes slack. But next to him, the General’s smile turns into a beam of a man who expected to walk into a battlefield, only to find out that he had waltzed into Disneyland instead. And that alone is enough for him to push down the gilt from his lie. _Family first_ , he reminds himself.  
  
He smiles. “Natasha and I would be thrilled to come to dinner tomorrow.” 

* * *

“Nat, please say something.”  
  
Natasha looks up at him. “Let me see if I understood you correctly,” she says, the stillness of her voice as she sets her coffee mug down on her kitchen island making him shift on his feet. “You went into this meeting fully intending to support Joe… and somewhere between you shoveling food into your mouth and trying to impress the buyer… you said you and I were engaged?”  
  
He grimaces. “Well, I wouldn’t say I was trying to impress him as much as I was trying not to make him hate me,” he says. “But… I guess so?”  
  
Silence befalls them, his words hanging awkwardly in the air. Before him, Natasha puts a hand to her chin and he braces himself, but the tension coiling his body immediately fades when she breaks out in a fit of laughter, the sound reverberating through the walls of her kitchen. He cocks his head to the side, dumbfounded. He isn’t certain what he expected her reaction to be when he had told her about his lie and what he needed her help with, but he’s almost certain it isn’t this.   
  
“Let me know when you’re done,” he says after a beat when her laughter does not taper.  
  
“Oh, Rogers,” she says, trying to get her breathing in order even as she lets another giggle slip. “You’ve truly outdone yourself. Truly top shelf clownery right there.”  
  
“I know, all right?” he says in exasperation. Part of him itches to join her in laughter. Because she’s right, this is the height of stupidity. “I wasn’t thinking-”  
  
“Clearly,” she interjects, all but snorting.  
  
“But Nat, you won’t have to pretend for long,” he says. “Just until the deal is signed.”  
  
She looks at him, panic flashing in her eyes for the first time since he had told her the news. “Wait, you’re seriously thinking of going through with this?”  
  
“I can’t back out now,” he argues, earning a raised eyebrow from her. “If I show up empty handed to the dinner with the Odinsons, they might use that as an excuse to back out.” Her posture softens at that, and he sighs. “Please, Nat? Will you pretend to be my fiancée?”  
  
“Steve,” she says, “even if I did agree to… this, no one would actually buy it.”  
  
“Why not?” he asks, standing straighter. “We play pretend practically every night at the bar.”  
  
“Yeah, for five minutes until the creeps crawl back into their caves,” she says incredulously. “We’re talking about convincing the man who wants to buy your family’s company here. And not to mention the press. And your family.” She shakes her head. “I mean, how are they even on board with this?”  
  
He cringes. “About that…”  
  
“You didn’t tell them you lied?” she says, her eyes widening in disbelief.  
  
“I couldn’t!” he says. “Well, I don’t think Darcy really bought it, but she’s not going to rat me out. And you know my dad. The second he finds out that I lied, he’d do the right thing and tell the General.” He shakes his head. “I can’t let him do that, Nat. He and my mom have wanted to do this for years. My screw ups can’t be the reason why it doesn’t happen.”  
  
Her shoulders sag at his words. “For fuck’s sake, Rogers,” she says, more to herself than anyone else as she begins to pace. “How did you even get yourself into this? You’re supposed to be the shittiest liar I know.” His lips part to defend himself, but he bites back his words at the glare she sends him. “Don’t even try. Remember that Summer we emptied out my brother’s room before he got back from work? You cracked like an egg the second he walked through the door.”  
  
“That’s not fair! You and Bucky have the terrifying twin glare thing going,” he says defensively. “But this isn’t the same.”  
  
“Steve, do you have any idea how many women would kill to do this for you?” she asks. “We could go out on the street right now and find some takers. Hell, you could even pay someone to do this and literally any one of them could sell this better than I could.”  
  
“I’m not going to ask some random stranger to be my fiancée,” he says, dismissing the pointed look she shoots him. “Nat, this only works if it’s with you.” He shakes his head. “You know me- scratch that, no one knows me like you do.”   
  
“Maybe,” she says after a beat, her tone softer now as she crosses her arms over her chest. “But I’m not made to be a fiancée. You know that.”  
  
Hurt paints her features, and though she’s quick to suppress it, he catches it just the same. “Fuck,” he mutters as guilt rushes over him, and internally, he kicks himself for not even thinking about what memories this might dredge up for her. “Nat, I’m so sorry,” he says, moving towards her. “I didn’t even… Christ.”  
  
She shakes her head. “It’s fine.”  
  
“No, it’s not,” he insists. “When the General thought you and I were together, his opinion of me took a one-eighty, and I just- I thought… I stupidly thought we could pull this off together. I didn’t even think of how you’d feel.”   
  
“Steve,” she says, “it’s okay, really.” She smiles. “You know I care about you and your family. Hell, Joe and Sarah have treated James and I more like family than our own mother ever has.” She puts a hand on his arm. “I’d do anything for you guys. But this?” She sighs. “This could go belly up before your eyes and-” She’s cut off by the sound of the doorbell ringing, and she looks apologetically up at him. “Sorry, one sec. I’ve been waiting for an important package.”  
  
He nods, placing his hands on his hips as he looks up to the ceiling and she makes her way out. Despite his good intentions, he knows everything Natasha had just said is right, and it’d be wise to nip his lie in the bud right now before it festers into something catastrophic. But even so, the image of his father’s disappointed face when he learns of his deceit and realizes that his dream must be put on hold, is no less heartbreaking. He sighs, running a hand through his face.  
  
His thoughts are interrupted by the sound of a harmony filling the room, and he drops his hand as his eyebrows knit together in confusion. He walks out of the kitchen, looking around. “Nat?” he calls out. “What-”  
  
The sight before him stops him dead in his tracks. By the open door, Natasha stands, her mouth agape in horror as she’s serenaded by the barbershop quartet standing in the hallway. The men slide to the side, holding their note and parting to reveal someone behind what is quite possibly the largest teddy bear ever known to man clutching a rose between its paws. He walks closer to Natasha just as the person holding the bear sets it down, his lips pressing in a hard line when he sees who’s behind.  
  
“Johnny,” Natasha all but spits out. “Are you kidding me? I told you I’ve had it with these ridiculous-”  
  
“Come on, Nat,” Johnny begins, his lips curving up in a smile to reveal his perfect teeth. “I said I was sorry-”  
  
“I don’t care,” Natasha says. “I told you, this has got to stop.”  
  
As he watches the exchange, his hands curl up into fists at his sides. Natasha had told him all about Johnny’s ridiculous attempts to win her back, and it’s grown from laughable to outright harassment. The audacity of this man to show up at Natasha’s front door with these theatrics after she’s made it painfully clear that she’s had enough makes it even harder to not want to give the man a shiner in his steely blue eyes.   
  
“Look, I know I messed up,” Johnny says. “But-”  
  
“But nothing. I’m done with you,” she says, and he can’t help the smile that breaks out on his face as he watches his best friend stand up for herself. “And whatever you have to say doesn’t matter-”  
  
“And why’s that?” Johnny challenges, stepping closer.  
  
Natasha’s eyebrow rises at Johnny’s audacity. “Because…” she says, stepping back, and he’s surprised when she suddenly links her arm with his, looking up at him with the most saccharine of smiles. “Because Steve and I are engaged.”  
  
His eyes widen, and it takes all his restraint to keep his jaw from dropping as his head whips to her. But then he catches the look in her eyes, the very same one she’s used every single time to signal that she needs an assist, and all the doubt in his mind all but dissipates.  
  
“Yeah,” he says, pulling her flush to his side before sending the smuggest of grins Johnny’s way. “We’re getting married.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's just get this out of the way, shall we? Yes, I know Odin does not have a first name in the movies. And his last name certainly isn't Odinson. And Odinson literally comes from Thor being Odin's son. WELCOME TO MY AU! :-) 
> 
> **For previews and update announcements on this fic, follow me on Tumblr:[natrogersfics](https://natrogersfics.tumblr.com/)**


	2. Ready, Mrs. Rogers?

“Steve and I are engaged.”  
  
From the corner of her eye, Natasha notices the way Steve’s head whips to her at her words, and silently, she pleads that he can read her well enough to provide an assist as she looks up at him with the sweetest smile she can muster.  
  
“Yeah,” Steve says half a second later, and relief quickly washes over her when he pulls her closer to his side. “We’re getting married.”   
  
Johnny’s gaze goes from Steve to her before he lets out a scoff. “I always knew that whole we’re-just-friends spiel was a lie.”   
  
“Excuse me?” she says as Johnny smirks at her. “You-”   
  
“No, Johnny, we were really just friends until recently,” Steve pipes in, holding her tighter against him. “Being a scumbag is still solely your thing.”  
  
“Oh, that’s right,” Johnny says, mockingly tapping his temple with two fingers. “Silly me. How could I forget? That Carter girl was just in your bed last week, wasn’t she?”  
  
“That’s enough,” she says firmly as she feels Steve tense up next to her. She lets go of him to stand by the door, tilting her chin up at Johnny. “I mean it, Johnny. Do not ever step foot on this floor again.”  
  
She slams the door shut before he can respond, leaning her forehead against the wooden panel as she inhales deeply. _I’m going to regret this_. She sighs, turning to face Steve once more. “Tell me everything you said at that meeting exactly as you said it.”   
  
They spend the next couple of hours coming up with a story, weighing the pros and cons of each detail they add. In the end, they settle on keeping it simple – after being friends for years, they felt the romance slowly blossoming between them over glasses of wine before closing time at the bar, and despite their best efforts to fight it in the name of their friendship, they just couldn’t resist. They agreed to keep their relationship on the down low, wanting to protect it from prying eyes. But then last night, as Natasha put the keys of the bar into her purse and Steve stood on the sidewalk waiting, he decided that he was tired of hailing her a cab every night. He wanted her to come home with him, forever.  
  
“I still think we should tell your family,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest as she stands in the center of her living room.  
  
“Nat, I told you that isn’t an option,” Steve says from his seat on the couch.  
  
“And I’m telling you that doing this without Joseph and Sarah knowing is crazy. Stupid, even.”  
  
“You’re right,” he says. “But if we’re doing this, they can’t be in on it. You know they can’t.” He sighs, placing his mug on the coffee table. “Look, I know we just ironed out the details, but you can still back out. I’ll…”  
  
She does not have to listen for the end of Steve’s sentence to know where he’s going with it. She knows the man like the back of her hand, and this is hardly the first time he’s needed help after getting himself into a sticky situation in the name of good intentions. And while he is asking more of her than just hiding him from a crazy date, there isn’t a single doubt in her mind that he would do everything in his power to correct his mistake. He would tell Joseph he lied. He would tell the buyer why he had done it. And then he would readily accept the consequences of it all.  
  
But so, too, would Joseph and Sarah.  
  
The last thought unnerves her the most. It’s not an exaggeration to say that she wouldn’t be where she is without Joseph and Sarah Rogers. They had become parental figures to her when she and Steve first became friends, and a small part of her had always been jealous that Steve had lucked out in the parental department. In contrast, her and Bucky’s relationship with their mother has always been contentious at best, and their perception of family has always been three people who couldn’t stand each other. Or, more accurately, a mother who couldn’t stand her children. Luckily, Joseph and Sarah had changed that, showing and instilling in them both the true meaning of a support system. They were always there to be sounding boards when they felt lost and present to cheer them on for every milestone they had accomplished. The Rogers’ have never treated either of them as anything but their own, and their kindness is something she could never in a million years forget. If an opportunity presented itself for her to repay them, she would take it in a heartbeat – even if said repayment meant selling them a lie.  
  
“It’s not enough,” she says, turning her attention back to Steve.  
  
Steve’s eyebrows knit together, and he stares at her as if she’s grown three more heads. “I don’t think I follow.”  
  
“Our story,” she says. “It’s not enough that we have it straight.”  
  
“Nat, my Dad bought my half put together story this morning. Even set up an appointment at noon for us at the store to get a ring,” he says, to which she raises an eyebrow. “This more detailed version should be fine.”  
  
“Joseph isn’t one to pry,” she points out. “But other people will. The media, the Odinsons. Hell, Sarah knows us both to our cores.” She shakes her head. “She isn’t just going to buy some story no matter how detailed.”  
  
“What do you suggest then?” he says, eyeing her curiously.  
  
She contemplates his question. As far as threats to their act go, the media is ironically the least harmless. Sure, they’re professional sleuths when it comes to the subjects of their columns, but they are still, at the end of the day, speculators. The same goes with the Odinsons. While the time they’ll have to spend with them breaking bread and answering questions make selling their relationship trickier, just like the media, they didn’t really know her and Steve at all. The Rogers family is what it all boils down to. They’re the ones who need to be convinced most by their fictional romance – Sarah, the most intuitive of them all, most especially. And if they’re going to pull this off, they’re going to have to go all in.  
  
“Nat?” Steve calls out, breaking her out of her reverie. “You still with me?”  
  
She sighs. “Get up.”  
  
“Why?” he asks even as he rises from his seat.  
  
“Just… humor me,” she says, watching as he walks around the coffee table to stand before her. “Come closer.” She waves him over with a come-hither motion, and as he takes a step forward, she shakes her head in disapproval. “Closer.” He does so reluctantly, taking what can barely be considered half a step, and she rolls her eyes before taking it upon herself to close the remaining distance between them. “Kiss me.”  
  
“What?” he asks, his eyebrows shooting up into his hairline in a way she had only really seen in cartoons before as he looks wide-eyed down at her.  
  
“You know my Starbucks order and I know that you refuse to eat anything that’s come remotely close to a pickle. So what? They don’t really care about that,” she says. “For this to work, they can’t just think we’re a couple. They have to believe it, too.” She gestures between the both of them. “This has to be the performance of our lives.”   
  
“And kissing is the way to deliver that?” he asks, his tone skeptical as he places his hands on his hips.  
  
“You saw how Tony and Pepper were when they first got engaged,” she says. “They were giddy and disgustingly all over each other.”  
  
“They still are,” he says. “Well, at least Tony is.”  
  
“The point is, a couple that’s comfortable being affectionate around each other is more believable,” she says. “And if the situation calls for it tomorrow, you need to look like you’re kissing the woman you want to spend the rest of your life with instead of the best friend who once fished you out of a manhole in college.” She shrugs. “So, we should practice.”  
  
“First of all, whose fault was it that I was in the manhole to begin with?” he says emphatically. “And next, what makes you think I need to-”  
  
She cuts him off as she leans on the tips of her toes, her hand cupping his jaw to pull him down enough that she can press her lips to his. He groans in surprise, stumbling backwards a step as his hands scramble for purchase on her arms. It takes him a second before he realizes what’s happening, but just as he regains the presence of mind to kiss her back, relaxing into her touch as he does, she pulls away.  
  
“That’s why we need to practice,” she says dryly.  
  
He glares at her. “You know what, Romanoff,” he says, sighing in exasperation when she only stares innocently at him in return. “Nevermind. We have a ring to buy.” 

* * *

Despite feeling more confident in their plan as they left her apartment and got into the cab, she’s hit with a wave of unease as she and Steve silently peruse the glass displays at the jewelry section of Sarah’s. Being in this store has always been thrilling for her, though not for the same reasons their regular clientele might have. Not that she didn’t enjoy retail therapy as much as the next person, but the real draw of coming here has always been getting to see its operations from behind the scenes. Observing how Sarah’s has been run over the years has given her a real glimpse into the passion and hard work that goes into nurturing a successful business, and the example is one she’s tried to apply now that she has her own. This place holds a special place in her heart, and while she’s always felt comfortable within its four walls, today she finds that feeling is nowhere to be found.  
  
Much of that, she realizes, has to do with the fact that today, she isn’t here as a customer on the hunt for a killer pair of heels or even a family friend of the Rogers’. No, today, as she and Steve wait for the ring she had chosen to be sized, she’s here to play the part of his fiancée. And despite there being an expiration date on the designation, the role is no less daunting when she’s only had hours to acclimate herself to it.  
  
“You’re quiet,” Steve says as he comes to stand next to her. “Cold feet?”  
  
“This might come as a surprise to you,” she says, looking around them before adding, “but it’s not every day that I go ring shopping with my fake fiancé.”  
  
A teasing grin makes its way onto his lips. “Did you want to practice or something?” She shoots a dagger look his way, and when her eyes don’t let up at his smile, his expression falls. “Nat, if you-”   
  
“Rogers,” she sighs before he can finish his thought. “I’m here. We’re here. We’re doing this.” She shrugs. “Besides, this is a good trial run. If we can’t convince strangers we’re together, we might as well abort mission.”  
  
He holds her gaze, though for what, she isn’t sure. But eventually, he nods. “You know,” he says, dropping the subject. “Part of me thought you were going to pick this one.”  
  
She looks to where his finger is pointing to see one of the rings that had been in the assortment they were presented with a while ago. It’s a simple platinum band with a cushion cut diamond at the center, and she had lingered on it more than she had the others. She smiles. “Looks just like your mom’s,” she says fondly. “And it’s what I would have chosen for myself, if I’m being honest.”  
  
“So why didn’t you?” he asks, puzzled.  
  
“For the exact reason I just said,” she explains. “It’s what I would choose. Me. As in, your best friend, Nat. Girl who could drink you under the table and who likes to give funny nicknames to our customers when they’re out of earshot.”  
  
“And that’s a problem because…”  
  
“Because that’s not who these people want to perceive as your future wife,” she says, earning a raised brow from him. “They want Natasha Romanoff… former attorney turned entrepreneur who can hold a champagne glass the proper way while she discusses the stock market.” She smirks. “That’s the girl they want taking New York’s Most Eligible Bachelor off the market.”  
  
“It’s Casanova, actually,” he says, and despite the facetiousness of his tone, she catches the affliction in his eyes. “And that version of you sounds really stuffy and boring.”  
  
Her lips part with a response, but the sound of heels clinking against the marble floor makes her think better of voicing it. She looks ahead to see Joseph and Sarah’s righthand person, Daisy, dressed impeccably in a crème silk blouse and black pencil skirt, making her way towards them. Daisy had started as a sales associate before eventually working her way up to operations director. Nothing goes on in the store without her knowing, certainly and most especially not the owner’s son coming in to buy an engagement ring.  
  
“Rush sizing for our favorite customers,” Daisy announces excitedly, setting down a small velvet case and opening the lid before pushing it across the counter. “Just to make sure it fits.”   
  
She glances at Steve, sharing an amused look with him. Daisy’s enthusiasm has been teeming since she and Steve walked onto the floor hand in hand, and while she’s done her best to contain it, the woman looks just about ready to burst at the seams. She smiles, reaching for the ring, but before her hand can do so, Steve’s beats her to it.  
  
“Allow me,” he says, a shy smile on his lips.  
  
She rolls her eyes playfully, holding her left hand out as he goes to pick up the ring and slide it onto her finger. Under the store’s lights, the oval cut diamond shines brightly as she raises her hand before her. It’s large, extravagant, five carats at least, and exactly the opposite of what she’d have chosen if this wasn’t all an act.  
  
“Is it okay?”  
  
She looks up at Steve’s question, his expression showing her that he means more than just the way the ring fits. In all honesty, she does not know. It’s not as if the weight feels foreign, though it’s not exactly comfortable, either. When things had come crashing down with Johnny, she’d sworn in the aftermath that there’d never be another band around her finger again. And now here she is, less than two years later, already eating her words. But the circumstances are fleeting, she reminds herself. None of this is real. This isn’t a repeat of her past pains nor will she have to put herself back together again once this is over. And with that reminder, she nods. “Perfect.”   
  
“Yay!” Daisy exclaims. “Okay, I’ll go start the paperwork.” She turns to leave, but then hesitates. “Can I just say, I am so, so happy for the two of you. Like, I always thought you guys would look good together, but this” – she pauses to point to both of them – “this is better than I imagined!”  
  
“Thanks, Daisy,” she says, smiling as Steve places an arm around her.   
  
“Do you want to grab lunch before we have to open?” Steve asks later once they’re out of the store and standing on the buzzing sidewalk of Fifth Avenue.  
  
“Nah,” she says, pointing to the red paper bag dangling from her wrist with Sarah’s written in silver cursive on the front. “There’s something I have to do first.”   
  
Confusion paints his features, but it’s quickly replaced by a grimace. “Is he gonna kill me?”  
  
“Kill you? No. Never let you live this down? Definitely,” she says with a smirk, laughing when he cringes. “I’ll see you at the bar.”  
  
“See you,” he says with a nod.  
  
She’s taken a few steps in the opposite direction when she hears him call out to her, causing her to turn back to him with an amused smile. “What now?”   
  
“Thank you,” he says with a tip of his head.   
  
She gives him a one-shouldered shrug. “What are friends for, right?”

* * *

“Maybe the head gasket just needs to be replaced,” she says, her feet dangling from the edge of the worktable she’s perched on.  
  
From where he’s looking under the hood of the bright yellow Camaro with a flashlight, Bucky scoffs. “If I’m lucky,” he says. “Guy who dropped this off knows jack about cars. Probably bought this to compensate for something.”  
  
After returning from the Army, her brother had decided to open his own auto repair shop in Brooklyn. She never really understood the allure of diagnosing and repairing vehicles for hours upon end, but tinkering has always been Bucky’s thing and something he’s incredibly adept at. And while it is quite the trek over the bridge from Manhattan, she knows that he’s the happiest when he’s in here with his nails caked with grease and his shirt stained with oil.   
  
“Most likely,” she says, taking a sip from the cold can of soda in her hand. “And you got that from meeting the guy once?”  
  
“There was white smoke and stuff,” Bucky says mockingly in his best impression of the owner. “Do you know what one of the most common causes of a blown gasket is? Not-”  
  
“Not having enough coolant in the radiator,” she finishes for him before rolling her eyes. “You’ve only said it like fifty million times.”  
  
“All right, Motorhead,” he says, the smile on his face a cross between amusement and pride. “Fess up. What did you do this time?”  
  
She picks up her drink, taking another sip. “Are you suggesting I only come over when I’ve done something?”   
  
“Are you suggesting you came all the way to Williamsburg to sit on my work table?” he volleys back, raising an eyebrow at her in challenge.  
  
For a moment, she tries to keep a straight face, but it lasts but a second before her resolve comes crashing down. “Fucking twin thing,” she murmurs, ignoring the smug look on her brother’s face as she reaches for her purse. She feels blindly for the velvet box, sighing when she takes it out to show him. “I’m engaged.”  
  
“To Storm?” Bucky spits out, saying the name like it’s left an acrid taste in his mouth.  
  
“No,” she says quickly, sounding equally disgusted. “To… Steve.”   
  
Her words are met with silence, and she watches as the wheels begin to turn in Bucky’s head and an amalgam of emotions cycle through his face. She bites her lip, unsure of what to expect of his reaction, and is surprised when her brother tilts his head to the side, staring at her, dumbfounded. “Do you have a type or something?”  
  
“What?” she says, taken aback. “No! It’s not- it’s not like that. Steve and I are just-”  
  
Bucky cuts her off by holding a hand up to her. “If you’re going to finish that sentence, I’m going to need something stronger than a Coke.”  
  
Bucky returns with two tumblers of Vodka, and once he’s perched next to her, she proceeds to tell him everything that had transpired this morning. While her and Steve’s secret plan is only hours old, she feels a big weight lift from her shoulders from just telling someone about it. Her brother has always been her confidant, her go-to person even before she met Steve, and if the media circus she suspects breaks out come tomorrow evening when their act officially goes public, he’s the one person she needs to make sure knows the truth.  
  
“Wow,” Bucky says once she’s done talking. “I really can’t leave you two to your own devices, huh?”  
  
“This isn’t like Sophomore year,” she all but swears. “We actually have this one figured out. Master plan and everything.”  
  
“I’ve heard that before,” Bucky deadpans, putting his hands up when she turns to glare at him. “Look, I get why you two are doing this, I do.” He sighs. “But Nat, the last time you ran in these social circles-”  
  
“Steve isn’t Johnny,” she interjects quickly. “You know that.”  
  
“I do, but that’s not what I’m worried about,” Bucky says. “You’ve always been too tough for Johnny to break and Steve wouldn’t ever dare try.” He brings his drink up to his lips, tipping his head back before downing the rest of it. “But her?”  
  
She only has to see the way Bucky’s lips press into a hard line to know to whom he’s referring. Their mother has always been a sore subject for the both of them. The woman is the quintessential example of never satisfied, always on the hunt for more power in every aspect of her life. Her ambition would be admirable, her position as one of the most successful executives in the country even enviable if it didn’t always take precedence over her relationship with her children.  
  
There’s a specific kind of pain that comes with realizing that your mother is the most toxic person in your life. It’s a hurt unlike any other and it’s a truth that’s near impossible to swallow. Bucky had accepted the fact early on, the first of the two of them to put a boundary between himself and their mother’s manipulation and power plays. He had severed ties with her the moment he turned eighteen, fending for himself and taking their father’s name even if they’ve never met the man.  
  
She, on the other hand, had made it her life’s mission to earn their mother’s love. If their mother wanted her to accomplish something, she did so exactly as she was told to and with everything she had. And yet, it did not matter that she had graduated valedictorian of her college class or that she was the youngest to make partner at a law firm upon receiving her J.D. It did not matter that she had carried the woman’s train through her every wedding to whichever man she was sure she didn’t love. To their mother, she would forever be a perennial disappointment.   
  
That is, until she had announced her engagement to Johnny. It was the first time in her life that she felt her mother approve of a decision she had made, and the acceptance she received as a result of it was outright euphoric. She had a man that was good to her, a mother helping her plan her wedding, a thriving career, and friends to share her joys with. Her life, as she had perceived it then, was perfect.  
  
It wasn’t until that one fateful night during yet another engagement party the Storm family had thrown that things had taken a sick turn. She was coming from the bathroom when she overhead Johnny and her mother talking in the hall, unknowingly revealing the unadulterated truth that they had been working together all this time. Johnny didn’t love her. No, he loved that she made him a better man in the eyes of his father, who viewed his son settling down with a woman of her caliber as a gateway to finally inheriting the family business, and that her mother held the key to elevating his social standing. And if that wasn’t enough of a betrayal, her mother didn’t suddenly want to mend their relationship out of love. Why would she, when doing so for the opportunity to buy into the Storm’s business was a lot more compelling in the mind of a woman who valued power and money over anything and everything. 

The memory of how her skin crawled and her stomach churned as she stood there still rings fresh in her mind. But that’s nothing compared to how disgusted she felt as the wool was finally pulled from her eyes. Her mother and Johnny were one and the same, capable of using people as they see fit regardless of the harm it caused, and in her desperate need to win her mother’s approval, she had almost missed it.  
  
“She can’t hurt me anymore, Buck,” she says. “I won’t let her.”  
  
Bucky nods, placing a hand on her knee. “Just be careful, all right? I know you’re doing this for family, but… maybe that’s even more reason to keep your eyes open at all times.”  
  
She hums in acknowledgement, leaning her head on Bucky’s shoulder as she chews on his words.

* * *

“You’re doing some pretty serious thinking over there,” Steve notes the next evening as they sit in the town car weaving its way through the busy streets of Lower Manhattan. “Million-dollar idea?”   
  
“Yeah,” she says, pointing to her dress, the snug silver material hanging from two dainty straps on her shoulders shining even in the darkness of the car. “Sensible evening wear.”  
  
He smiles. “Well, for what it’s worth, I think you look great.”   
  
“Thanks,” she says, eyeing the gray suit that fits him like a glove. “I mean, I’d say likewise, but I literally had to tape my boobs in place, so...”   
  
“That’s fair,” he says with a chuckle. “Tape in places they shouldn’t be aside though, everything good?”  
  
Her first instinct is to say yes, brush off the thoughts that have been eating away at her since she came back from Brooklyn yesterday. But that would be a lie, and one glance at Steve, whose eyes are genuinely laden with concern, reminds her that the strength of their friendship has always been built on honesty. She eyes the divider before them, making sure there’s a separation between them and the driver. “How does this end?”  
  
He stares at her for a second before making air quotes with his fingers. “Us?”   
  
She nods.   
  
“I guess like every other tabloid breakup in history,” he offers.  
  
She crinkles her nose. “Cheating scandal?”  
  
“I was thinking more along the lines of the spark fizzled, you dork,” he says, clearly amused. “Why?”   
  
“It’s just… Bucky brought up a good point yesterday about family and keeping our eyes open. It had me thinking about something I hadn’t really considered,” she explains, pausing to wet her lips. “I know this thing we’re about to do is risky. And I’m all in, consequences and all.” She sighs before going on. “But I need you.” Her words could not be truer. In many things, he’s her rock, and one of the few people she trusts dearly, and these days, those are in short supply. “So, I need to know that whatever happens with this, I won’t lose you.”  
  
Steve shakes his head, taking her hand. “Not even if you wanted to,” he says, grinning. “And Nat?”   
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Need you too,” he says, eliciting a smile from her. The car pulls up, and he sneaks a glance at the window before turning back to her. “Ready, Mrs. Rogers?”  
  
She grimaces. “As long as you never say that again.” 

* * *

If there’s one thing New York’s elite loves more than anything, it’s an excuse to dress up. The thought runs through her mind as she and Steve stand at the patio of the restaurant surrounded by a sea of the city’s who’s who, all of them dressed in their finest evening attire as they mingle and sip on after dinner cocktails. With its Greek columns and high ceilings, Cipriani’s on Wall Street is the very definition of grandiose, and it’s just as known for its Bellini as it is for being the place to be if you want to be pictured for the society pages.  
  
While she’s never been fond of this type of scene, part of her, particularly the one that had spent years as a corporate lawyer, understands. Sarah’s is a world-renowned retail giant after all, and to say the news of a change at the helm is a big deal, would be putting it lightly. The image alone of the Rogers and Odinson families getting along would go a long way in alleviating concerns stakeholders may have about a possible dip in the company’s stock price, and given that most of the concerned are probably in the vicinity anyway, it makes this the perfect backdrop for the announcement.   
  
The one about new ownership, that is. As far as the entire city finding out about your upcoming nuptials goes – sham engagement notwithstanding – this place is without a doubt a bit much. She’s only half listening to Steve’s words as he talks to Justin Hammer, CEO of Hammer Industries, when she looks across the room, suddenly locking eyes with Frigga Odinson, who’s conversing with the rest of her family along with Joseph and Sarah. Frigga smiles warmly at her, and though she sends one back in return, she quickly turns her attention elsewhere.   
  
Dinner with the Odinsons had gone smoothly. Erik, the patriarch, is as stringent as Steve had described, though he seemed to lighten up after hearing their engagement story. His wife, Frigga, is as pleasant and diplomatic as they come, reminding her a great deal of Sarah, with whom Frigga seems to have already formed a bond with. Thor, the eldest of their two sons, takes just after his mother – bright, bubbly, and armed with a good sense of humor. His personality is a stark contrast from his younger brother, Loki, who while not as imperious as their father, is leaps and bounds more reserved than his elder.   
  
If there had been any guilt over lying to the Odinsons, it had been relatively easy to push down. But the one that had come bubbling up the moment Sarah engulfed her in the tightest of embraces, expressing her elation over the fact that she was going to be officially part of the family, not by a mile. It felt the same way when Joseph offered them his congratulations, playfully boasting of the hand he had played in making sure they got an appointment at the store as soon as possible. She was almost grateful when Darcy had practically jumped on both her and Steve, whispering to them that she knew they were fibbing, but she had their backs anyway. At least that’s one less lie they would have to atone for later.   
  
“I know you’re both friends with the Starks,” she hears Justin Hammer say when she finally turns her attention back to the conversation. “But look, if you ever consider the sale of your bars, I think you’ll find I can give double the asking price.”  
  
“Thank you, Justin,” Steve says ever so cordially. “But the Soldier & Spy is not for sale.”  
  
“But what about-”  
  
“It’s non-negotiable,” she adds firmly even as she smiles. “Thank you for your interest, though.”  
  
Hammer puffs his cheeks. “You two make a formidable duo.”  
  
Something about the way Hammer eyes both her and Steve makes her even more conscious about her ring, an object she’s been trying her best to keep from getting noticed until after the news of the sale breaks. She moves her hand out of sight, feeling a little more relieved when Hammer reaches into his breast pocket, producing a business card before handing it to Steve.  
  
“In case you two change your mind,” Hammer says before winking at them both.  
  
She waits until Hammer disappears into the crowd before letting out a scoff. “If you tell Tony this, I’ll deny it, but he’s right. That guy is a prick.”  
  
Steve smirks. “Here’s to hoping they make the announcement already before we get accosted by another egomaniac.”  
  
“And what announcement would that be?”   
  
The sound of the voice is familiar, a little too much so, and it causes her to stiffen. Steve is the first to turn, and when she follows suit, her eyes confirm what her mind already knew. The woman standing before them offers them both a smile, looking the very definition of poised with her hair curled perfectly around her face and the dark onyx of her dress accenting her unblemished skin.  
  
“Hello, Steven,” the woman says, looking at Steve before turning to her. “Natasha.”  
  
“Melina,” she says, nodding.  
  
Melina motions to their surroundings with a perfectly polished finger. “Fancy running into you here of all places.”  
  
She tries to give off a casual shrug. “Small city.”   
  
“Apparently,” Melina says. “And here I was thinking this wasn’t your scene.”   
  
“Well, you know what they say about assumptions,” she says curtly.   
  
“And what is that?” Melina challenges.  
  
Before she can utter a reply, Steve steps forward, placing a hand on her back. “We’re needed elsewhere,” he tells Melina. “So, if you’ll excuse us.”  
  
“Us?” Melina says, and she watches as her eyes dart from Steve, to the hand he has on her back, and then back to her. “Oh, I see your little friendship has blossomed into something else.” Her tone is amused, her smile taunting. “Interesting.”   
  
Her eyes narrow, but when she feels Steve’s touch tighten ever so slightly, reminding her of the many onlookers surrounding them, she relaxes. “Goodnight, Melina.”   
  
Wordlessly, they make their way towards where Steve’s family is standing, ignoring the whispers around them and doing their best to smile politely at people motioning to start a conversation. They make it a few feet before she feels Steve take her hand, pulling her back.  
  
“Are you okay?” he asks.  
  
She sighs, but before she can answer his question, Sarah’s voice is chiming in. “There you two are!”  
  
“Sorry,” she says quickly, putting her best smile on as she watches the rest of the Rogers and Odinsons gather around them with the reporters trailing just behind. “We ran into Justin Hammer.”   
  
“Oh, what a misfortune,” Yelena Belova, another reporter from The NY Star and the head of the media team the Odinsons had hired to cover the sale, says. “Well, you’re safe here. Actually, we were just talking about the two of you.”  
  
“Were you now?” Steve says next to her, his tone a little too clipped. Yelena’s made a name for herself by writing articles that stop just short of libel, and with her name on the byline of some of the nastiest articles ever written about him, it’s safe to say he was more than irked to learn that she’s wormed her way into this deal with the Odinsons.   
  
“Yes,” Yelena says. “We were wondering if you two were planning on a long engagement.”  
  
“Oh,” she says, turning to Steve with a smile. “We haven’t really decided.”  
  
“We really just got engaged last night,” Steve says, taking her hand in his. “But hopefully she won’t make me wait too long.”  
  
“Perhaps June would be a good time,” Loki suggests.  
  
Thor nods in agreement. “The weather is more forgiving that time of year in this area, isn’t it?”   
  
“Boys,” Frigga says, her voice soft yet firm as she sends a smile her and Steve’s way. “Do not badger them. Steve and Natasha will get married at the time of their choosing.”  
  
“Never too early to start,” the General says, his gaze falling to Joseph and then Sarah. “Take it from us. It took Frigga months to plan Thor’s wedding, and that’s with the assistance of Jane’s mother.”  
  
“It’s true, but weddings can truly be a special time for mothers,” Frigga says before turning to her. “Oh, yours must be so thrilled! Will she be helping you plan the wedding, Natasha?”  
  
Frigga’s question seems to catch the attention of the rest of the group, more notably Yelena’s. “Oh, no,” she tells Frigga as smoothly as she can, pretending not to notice the alarm on Steve’s and Sarah’s faces. “My mother is no longer in the picture.”  
  
“Natasha is very much capable of planning their wedding all on her own,” Sarah interjects quickly, her tone confident. “But should she want our help, she knows we’re only a call away.”   
  
“Hear, hear!” Darcy says. “Anything for family, right?”   
  
As the rest of the group echoes Darcy’s sentiment, the loudest coming from the General, she feels an arm wrap around her. She looks to her side, catching the little wink Sarah sends her way, and she laughs softly, leaning into the embrace.

* * *

She takes a steadying breath as she stands between Steve and Darcy. A few feet ahead, Joseph and Sarah linger behind the podium, ready to address the rest of the restaurant. While there had been whispers when she and Steve had entered the restaurant arm in arm, she couldn’t ignore how they seemed to have grown louder once people took notice of the two of them following Joseph and Sarah up the stage. Not that she’s surprised; it’s one thing to be Steve’s plus one, but it’s entirely another to be standing next to his family during a time where many are already anxiously awaiting the mysterious news.   
  
“Good evening, everyone,” Joseph begins. “I’m sure you’re all wondering why we’ve called this gathering tonight. And since we’ve asked you to wait until the end, we’re going to try to keep it brief.” He sneaks one look at Sarah before looking back at the crowd. “It is with a heavy yet grateful heart that we announce that we, as a family, have decided to sell Sarah’s to new ownership.”  
  
Joseph pauses for a second, letting the news sink in before going on to rave about the loyal customer base Sarah’s has accrued over the years and the talented employees that have helped stir the ship to where it is. And as he does, she takes note of the reactions of the crowd. Tony and Pepper, who were privy to the sale beforehand, listen carefully. Some, like the Pym family who run textiles, sit stunned, while others – Melina, most notably – lean forward in intrigue. Joseph announces the Odinsons as the new stewards of the business, eliciting a round of applause from the room.  
  
“I believe I speak on behalf of my wife, my children, and myself when I say that there is no doubt in our minds that Sarah’s will be in good hands with Erik and his family,” Joseph says. “As for us, we look forward to the next chapter of our lives.” He turns to Sarah, smiling. “My dear, I believe I owe you a long overdue trip.”   
  
“That you do,” Sarah says, bringing a hand up to cup Joseph’s face lovingly before looking back out into the crowd. “And while I cannot wait to see more of the world with you, I am equally excited to spend more time with our family, especially since as of yesterday, it is officially gaining another member.”   
  
There’s a collective gasp in the room as Sarah says the words, and from where she stands, she swallows tightly, only vaguely aware of Steve running his thumb over her knuckles. This is it, the point of no return. With Sarah’s next words, their charade would no longer be confined to her apartment or the jewelry department of Sarah’s or even the dinner table they had shared with the Odinsons. In a matter of seconds, the whole city would be in on it, and for better or for worse, they’ll have to play the part of the future Mr. and Mrs. Rogers. She looks to Steve, and something about the little smile he offers chips away at her nerves. She smiles back.  
  
“Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to take this opportunity to announce that my son, Steven, has asked the wonderful Natasha Romanoff to be his wife, and we couldn’t be more thrilled that she’s agreed,” Sarah practically squeals into the microphone, beaming as she turns to them. “Natasha, my darling, we’ve long thought of you as our daughter, but we cannot wait for it to be official.”  
  
Sarah waves them both over, and as she and Steve step into the spotlight, joining Sarah, Joseph, and now Darcy, the ruckus in the room intensifies – the applause grows thunderous and the telltale sound of flashing cameras multiply by tenfold. If the reactions to the announcement of the sale had been a mixed bag, that’s no longer the case. The crowd is unanimously stunned, and whether or not that’s to their advantage, she isn’t certain. But as the photographer motions for her and the rest of the Rogers’ to move closer to the Odinsons, she pushes that thought aside as she smiles for the camera. 

* * *

It's after she and Steve are inundated with a multitude of congratulations that she finds herself in the bathroom, staring at her reflection in the mirror above the sink as takes in her first quiet moment of the night. By all measures, she and Steve had done well. The Odinsons, most importantly the General, had warmed up to them, and Joseph and Sarah are none the wiser when it comes to the true status of their relationship. She’s not sure the guilt from that would ever fade or grow easy to swallow, but she finds comfort in their endgame. Once the contract is signed and the Odinsons are the new rightful owners of Sarah’s, this ruse could stop and their lives would go back to normal.  
  
With a final glance at the mirror, she makes her way out, nearly colliding with someone as she exits the door. “I’m so-” she begins, stopping when she sees who she’s come face to face with.   
  
“Well, if it isn’t the next Mrs. Rogers,” Melina says. “I believe congratulations are in order.”  
  
“Thank you,” she says, “but I don’t want it. Certainly not coming from you.”  
  
“I have to say, I underestimated you...” Melina says, completely unfazed by her insult. “All this time, you had me believing that this isn’t a life you wanted. But going from a Storm to a Rogers?” Melina steps closer to her, and she goes rigid when the woman reaches over to tuck a loose tendril of hair behind her ear. “I couldn’t have done better myself, malyshka.”   
  
“What can I say,” she says through gritted teeth. “I learned from the best… Mom.”  
  
“You haven’t called me that in years, Natasha, let’s not start now,” Melina says, chuckling. “Besides, you can pretend all you want that you loathe me” - Melina pauses to lean in, as if to tell her a secret - “but let’s not pretend that you don’t always come crawling back in the end.”   
  
The impulse to fire back a scathing retort comes rushing to her, but she does not get the chance to act on it as Melina walks away with a sneer. And for a second, she’s unable to do anything but stand there, rooted in place, as her eyes fall shut in disappointment. It’s as if it does not matter how old she gets or how strong she thinks she’s become; Melina will always manage to get under her skin, playing her like a fiddle. She shakes her head at the thought, knowing that she can’t let that happen this time around. Not when her family – her real family – needs her to keep her head in the game, and certainly not when there’s more at stake than her broken heart. She sighs, finding it within her to put one foot in front of the other as she makes her way back to their table.   
  
“There you are,” Steve says, smiling as she approaches. “Buy you a drink?”  
  
“You better,” she says before pointing to her heels. “Preferably somewhere I don’t have to wear these.”  
  
“I think I know just the place,” he says knowingly, pulling her coat off the back of her chair and helping her into it. “The Odinsons left. As did Mom, Dad, and Darcy. Told me to let them know when we’re free for breakfast.”  
  
“Okay,” she says before sighing. “Now, get me out of here.”  
  
“Yes, ma’am,” he says, offering his arm out to her. 

She links her arm with his, the both of them making conversation as he guides her out of the main dining room and down the stairs. They make it all the way to the bottom before she feels him tense, an expletive slipping from his lips, and in an instant, he’s standing in front of her.

“Steve?” she says, her tone filling with worry when she sees his jaw set. “What’s wrong?” 

His lips part, but before he can speak, she hears the noise come rushing in. She looks around him, finding the lobby now swarmed by a battalion of photographers with their cameras already flashing as they move towards them. 

“Steve! Natasha! Can we see the ring?” 

“Why the sudden engagement?” 

“Natasha, are you expecting?” 

“What about Peggy Carter, Steve?” 

Steve’s hands fall to her arms, turning her attention back to him. “We can leave through the back door.”   
  
As the photographers continue to shout questions at them, she sneaks another glance at the sea of brightness behind him, and then towards the hallway on the right leading to the back of the building. But as she does, she catches sight of the immediate landing of the stairs, and freezes when she sees Melina now standing against the railing, regarding them both with a menacing curiosity. Her first instinct is to turn back, pull Steve, and make a run for it. But then her words to Bucky yesterday ring loud and clear in her head: _She can’t hurt me anymore. I won’t let her_. 

“Can we get a kiss for the cameras?” 

That particular question causes her and Steve to share a look, and in an instant, she makes a decision as she nods towards the growing circus behind him. “They want a show, don’t they?”  
  
Surprise flashes in his eyes, and for a moment, she thinks he might protest. But then he’s blinking the emotion away, pulling her close and shifting to put her in view. And this time, as he lifts her chin up with one hand, he does not stumble as he slants his lips over hers and their audience goes wild. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **For previews and update announcements on this fic, follow me on Tumblr:[natrogersfics](https://natrogersfics.tumblr.com/)**


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